Getting Away With It
by spheeris1
Summary: AU :: Contiuation of 'Criminals' & 'And The Crimes They Get Away With' :: Multi-part :: Noir. Lust. Violence. :: Shifting POV :: Spencer is not the kind of girl to lie to. Ashley is not the kind of girl to go quietly. :: COMPLETED
1. part three

Some girls get in a bad place and they never get back up again.  
They hit the bottom and never crawl back to the top.

Some girls get hit and don't hit back.

But not Spencer Carlin.  
She might have been raised to be a good little girl, but there were other lessons she learned pretty quick, too.  
Like how to shimmy out her window when the fighting got too loud.  
Like how to roll her own cigarettes, thanks to that first (and last) boyfriend, his kisses rough and tasting of tobacco.  
Like how it feels when a fist connects with your jaw.

It's painful, yes.  
It's even more liberating, though.

Some girls go in the 'wrong' direction and get used up, tossed aside like garbage.  
Some girls have words stamped on their foreheads - words like 'victim' and words like 'soft'.

But not Spencer Carlin.

If you hit her, you better aim to kill.  
Because if the situation were reversed - and she'll make sure that it is, one day soon - you'll find her punch to be lethal.

/ / / /

It's not a thing, you see.  
But it is.  
It's not an every day thing, but Ashley wouldn't mind if it was.

Not like a lover, because who needs one of those?

But Spencer isn't just good, you see... She's **really** fucking talented. And Ashley's thighs still ache, two days later, sitting on this bar stool in this tattered establishment as guys watch a busted up television and leave a million more rings on the wood.

They are betting on the baseball game. They are letting guts grow bigger.  
She's relishing the discomfort in her muscles and nursing her beer with a lazy grip.

It's not a thing.  
But it's something.  
Spencer is the flick of the wrist and Ashley is merely the match-tip.  
They'll grow hot and they'll burn up and fade to dust.

Just like buildings after Ashley is done with them.  
Just like every other amazing orgasm ever had.

Because it's not a thing, you see.

_But it is._

/ / /

She makes her threats and they are not idle ones.

That's something you learn pretty fast if you work for her.  
The rules are not just phrases, not just sayings to ensure complacency among the rats.

It's a subtle kind of order and that's her first class seat.  
That's her car and her suits. That's her name and her bond.  
That's her gun in the middle of the night.

And as much as she likes the feeling of warm skin trembling, of sweat hitting her tongue, of a voice begging in the half-light, Spencer has no qualms in cutting Ashley Davies down where she stands.

Ashley knows this, from her shadowed corner, booted feet silent on the floor and breathing kept to a minimum.  
She knows the look behind the look - Spencer's eyes not appearing familiar due to semi-frequent sex, but due to things that Ashley has seen many times before... in other gazes, in other warehouses.  
Everyone has a look like that in this line of work.

The face of retribution. The face of a boss.

But Ashley isn't late just for the hell of it.  
And she isn't going to step out of this hidden place until the client leaves.  
Because, while her loyalty is to the cash in hand, she can't help but want to get on the good side of Spencer Carlin.

It offers protection. It offers steady work. It offers a chance for so much more of what Ashley is growing to crave - pushed around by the blonde's body, unzipped and almost disregarded, taken until there is nothing left to give.

It offers the deepest and darkest of wants being realized, again and again.

Still, the client needs to leave before Ashley makes her presence known.

Because this client, Ashley knows him way too well.  
And the term 'snake in the grass' was written just for him.

/ /

_He likes to make deals and watch them unfold and then he'll play the ace up his sleeve._

_It's all a game to him, paid for by parents who don't know or don't care.  
He doesn't just snort the line at that VIP table.  
He arranges the drops and picks the dealers._

_And the cops don't give a shit, because when you've got more money than God, who is going to spill your secrets?_

_Nobody. That's who._

_He would dance around the clubs and snatch up names and kiss a lot of lips.  
He would turn crime into a joke, where only he knew the punch-line.  
And for a while, it could be nice to be in his lime-light._

_It would hit you and you'd glitter for a bit, too._

_He always liked to hug her from behind and press too close and she didn't mind so much, except that his embrace was always cold instead of warm.  
Always more of an act than an occurrence.  
But it's not like she cared much.  
She wasn't even a mention in the streets yet, just a girl with hot hands and a big mouth._

_And if she could get in good with Aiden Dennison, then her life would be set.  
That's the motto of her world, after-all._

_Meet the right people and make them need you._

_Ashley didn't know, though, that Aiden was never the right person to meet._

/

"I told you what would happen if you did this again."  
"You can't trust this new client, okay?"

But Spencer snaps her fingers and Ashley first instinct is to run, which wouldn't get her anywhere in this place.  
The next instinct is to fight back, to kick and punch and knee however many groins she has to in order to avoid what is surely coming her way.

"I'm **serious**, Spencer, this guy is bad fucking news. He'll screw you over somehow, I can **promise** you that!"

Spencer tilts her head, one ear listening to Ashley's voice go from raspy to high-pitched and the other one listening to the sound of feet on the concrete - the sound of swift justice as her hired thugs near the brunette's tense body.  
Then it is the sounds of struggle and cursing, Ashley trying to battle when there is no chance.

Spencer leaves nothing to chance.  
Not in moments such as these.

"Spencer, **please**, I-" But one of the men slams his fist into Ashley's stomach and the girl stops talking, leveled to gagging to breathe and spit coating her lips as she coughs and doubles over.

"You'll say anything. You'll do anything. You don't think I've heard this kind of shit before, Ashley? I could write a book, call it '_Excuses Made Easy For Dummies' _and make your little display here the first chapter."

Spencer feels a delicious grin smooth over her lips. It is returned by one of the lugs holding Ashley, until Spencer raises one eyebrow and he looks away, chastised for thinking she wants his opinion at all.

It is this, at the end of the day, that she likes, though.  
Oh, power. So seductive and strong.  
The universe is hers to wield - her fingers plucking the strings and tugging them upward, side to side and any which way she damn well pleases.

"I mean it... Aiden is not to be... messed with..."

Ashley has to struggle just to say that, because taking in air is kind of hard now and she feels like throwing up and tears of agony have welled up in her eyes.  
One of the guys grips her jaw and tilts it up, squeezing until it seems like the bone might pop out and she knows that would hurt like a bitch.

Spencer is watching and their eyes meet.  
One pair pleading. One pair as cold as ice.

"First name basis, hmm? What is he to you, Ashley?"

She jerks her head away from the guy and now her face throbs and pulses with an intense discomfort never quite felt before.  
But she forces the words out as best she can even as she tastes blood from where the edge of a tooth dug into the tender flesh of her mouth.

"He's a piece... of shit. That's what... he is..."  
"Sounds personal. Is it?"  
"Not... like that."  
"Then what **is** it like, Ashley?"  
"I did... a job... for him, once, and... things got... out of hand."

Spencer's touch can do a lot of things to a person.  
It can turn them on. It can lull them into a false sense of security. It can tease and taunt.  
But it can wound a person, too.

That warm palm is around Ashley's neck as quick as lightning.

"The time for being vague is over. Tell me everything and tell it to me now. Then we'll see if you stay alive until morning."

**TBC**


	2. part four

_He said it was easy money.  
He said it would be a big move up for her.  
He said it was simple - in and out - then she'd be back at the club, with him, and they would toast to a job well done._

_Aiden would have his petty vengeance.  
Ashley would make a name for herself. Finally._

_No longer just a string of sentences, all from her own head.  
But a real deal. A real threat. A real feather in the proverbial cap._

_So, she did what she does best._

_Always at one in the morning. Always lining every edge with high-grade gasoline, then topping it off with lighter fluid about three feet up and on the walls.  
This would be easy. So easy._

_After-all, empty houses might as well be popsicle sticks when it comes to flames._

_And she was nervous, but not from second guessing._

_She was nervous because this excited her.  
Fire excited her. Aroused her. Gave her a rush like nothing else in this world._

_And, after tonight, it was going to make her kind of famous._

_That's what Aiden said.  
And that's what she believed._

/ / / /

"Tie her up. Now."

And they do as they are told. It's what they are paid to do.  
Plus, guys like this are not known for being sharp tacks - they are lucky to get jobs at all.

They are janitors. They are bookies. They are grave-diggers.  
Or they are really big men who break the legs of really stupid people.

Spencer likes the fact that they are of the latter variety.

She watches Ashley take in gulps of air after Spencer releases her from that vice-like grip, the woman licking her lips and swallowing repeatedly.  
Then Ashley is shoved into a chair.  
And her right ankle is tied to one leg of metal, then they do the same with the other.  
And arms are pulled back carelessly, causing the brunette to groan in stifled pain, but wrists are tightly secured behind the back.

"Get out."

And they do as they are told, the heavy door opening and sliding shut with a bang.

Ashley doesn't look at Spencer.  
She heaves a sigh, one that still doesn't sit right in her stomach and she knows there will be a lot of bruising on her skin - if she lives, if Spencer decides to believe her.

But she can hear the click-click of Spencer's shoes on the floor, can see as Spencer moves around her bound form.  
And Ashley inhales. And it hurts.  
And Ashley exhales. And that hurts, too.  
The blonde is lurking behind her now and Ashley is actually worried.

For the first time in a long while, Ashley wonders how the hell she got here.

"So... Ashley..." Spencer starts and her voice is close, too close now, a deceptively skilled whisper next to Ashley's ear.  
And the fingers that were choking are now pushing Ashley's hair aside and are feather-light against Ashley's neck, caressing where the imprint of threat still remains.

"...I hope you don't leave anything out."

That hand cups Ashley's sore jaw, gentle as a breeze, and that mouth grazes Ashley's cheek - a kiss that isn't a kiss at all.

And it's so wrong, so fucking wrong, to feel that touch the way she does.  
But desire is a funny thing.  
It is a thing, after-all. This is a thing between them.

Twisted and full of thorns, this thing, but it is there.

Otherwise, Ashley wouldn't be feeling strangely eager.  
Otherwise, Spencer would have already killed her.

/ / /

_It was already happening, you see._

_It was already lit and racing along and picking up great speed and she was stepping back, for just a second, to admire her handy work.  
The way fire could change colors - the red, the orange, the yellow - but go further and you'd see a blue unlike any other._

_She used to stare into that color for ages as a child.  
It would mesmerize her._

_But this was different and soon she'd have to go, in order to not be caught. And there would be a drink and a pay-off and an action to build a career out of waiting for her._

_No time to congratulate herself on such a beautiful bonfire._

_As she turned, that's when she saw it.  
Or, rather, him._

_Him. No face. No name. Him.  
Flailing and screaming and on fire - him, a terror of sound from inside as smoke seeped past the shut windows, an arm busting through glass and probably bleeding now.  
Him, the man who wasn't there. Him, the man who wasn't supposed to be there._

_Aiden's petty vengeance has a body and a name and a life._

_And Ashley freezes in the darkness as that man burns alive._

/ /

Spencer doesn't like this.

She doesn't like any of this. And it isn't for moral reasons. Nor for the sake of sympathy.  
This is a business and there is no room for sentimentality.

But there is no room for mistakes either.

And, somewhere along the way, important information has slipped through the cracks.  
And she'll make someone pay for this misstep.

Spencer will make them suffer and she'll enjoy every minute of it.

She studies Ashley's face, arms crossed and motionless as she leans onto her right foot in front of the tied-up girl. She watches the flutter of eye-lids. She takes in the hitch in the breathing. Each and every twitch and shift of Ashley's body, no matter how subtle.

Ashley lied.  
But others have lied, too.  
Aiden Dennison is probably lying as well.

That's the bad thing about crime, you know - you can't truly trust anyone.  
Not a pretty girl or a handsome man. Not a lot of money. Not a perfect plan.  
Everyone is a liar, in the end.

Spencer is liar, too.

But she walks over and reaches around Ashley's body, bringing them close together, so close that Spencer can almost hear the brunette's heart beat faster and Spencer can't seem to stop the wicked grin that grows upon her face.  
She loosens the rope and allows it to fall to the ground.

And Ashley's shoulders stay stuck somewhere between wanting to relax and wanting to remain tense.  
But Spencer does not move a single inch.  
She stays right there, too close and too near, hovering over Ashley and blocking the light from their respective faces.

"I'm going to check all of this out, you know."

Spencer talks softly and Ashley's head turns slightly in her direction.

"Yea... I know."

And Spencer trails one fingertip across the girl's cheek, skimming over Ashley's bottom lip.  
And Ashley makes this sound, an almost-whimper, and Spencer wants to growl in pleasure.

"And you won't be going home tonight. Don't want you running off or anything."  
"...Okay."

There it is, this thing between them, and Spencer doesn't need to give it a name.  
It doesn't really have a name, though others would more than likely call it lust.  
Call it ecstasy. Call it sex. Call it give and take.

It is all of those, this thing.

And, still, it is something else.  
Spencer doesn't need to name it in order to revel in it, though.

And if this is all a lie, then she can destroy Ashley Davies in the morning.

/

No longer tied up, no longer restrained by anything tangible, but Ashley isn't moving those arms and that's by choice.  
And everything aches now, but it is built of conflicting sensations.  
The jaw that needs aspirin. The gut that needs to be stretched out.  
The panting that hurts her lungs. The agonizing urge between her hips.

Ashley is a mess.  
And she likes it all too well.

Maybe it's not just fire that gets her going. Maybe it is not just arson that makes her a bad girl.

Her ankles are still lashed to the chair.  
When she strains, if only for a moment, she can feel the ropes cut past her jeans and rub against her skin - it hurts, it feels good, it is too much and Ashley moans uncontrollably when Spencer's tongue plunders her mouth.  
Ashley shakes with all the touching she is denying herself - as Spencer's bites viciously along her neck and as Spencer's fingernails go past the shirt and the bra and drag along Ashley's breasts.

Ashley begs with her body. Like she has no pride.  
And she doesn't, not right now.

And Ashley wonders if she'll ever need pride at all, especially if Spencer Carlin is around?

Spencer is grinding against her, legs on either side and straddling, and a chuckle leaves the blonde's lips because Ashley has forgotten herself in a wave of want - her hips are rocking in response even as her hands stay fisted by her side, asking with each frustrated lift what she cannot fully voice.

"How badly do you want it, Ashley?"

But Ashley cannot speak. She cannot think. She can only feel and move and groan.  
She is reduced to the animal within.  
She is merely bones and blood, with a longing ages old inside of her.

Spencer laughs out loud this time, getting up and smirking at Ashley's wide-eye stare and panic-filled face.

"You know, I almost hope you are telling me the truth... Because it would be a shame to not finish this."

Ashley is dumbfounded and painfully aroused and her head is starting to pound.

"You're going to leave me here like this?" She croaks out weakly.

And Spencer's voice is an echo in the distance.

"Yep."

**TBC**


	3. part five

**If you want that drink recipe, just let me know.**

/ / / /

She's not one for dreaming, but that's because it is usually easy for her to fall asleep.  
Nothing used to haunt her, though.  
Nothing used to get to her, not really.

And she didn't have to pick up a habit, too much alcohol or too much weed, in order to forget.

Fire will erase everything, you know.  
It'll level a place and leave nothing more than a charred spot on the Earth.  
And when the forest gets too cluttered, too overgrown, fire will make it all nice again.  
That's a fact, you know.

It's not always a pair of jerk-off campers or some kind of media-seeking crazy person.

Could be a forest ranger. Could be a scientist.  
If she hadn't been so ready for the wrong side of the tracks, it could have been her.  
She could have been some girl, lighting up trees, all with the law smiling.

But roads fork. And lives alter.  
And she did as she pleased, in the end.

She didn't have to pick up a habit.  
She already had one.

Ashley's head falls down once more, back into a strange slumber in this chair, legs as free as her arms - but the chair is still better than the cold floor.  
And that office with that nice leather couch is locked up tight - and Ashley knows better than to break in.  
She's been spared for a little while.

Not that she is lying. Every word she spoke was the truth.

And she dreams in black and white, like an old movie, the kind her dad liked to watch as he propped his feet up, as her mother angrily washed the dishes and complained about bills that needed to paid.  
Cowboys and Indians. Lovers in fedoras. Storming the beach on D-Day.  
And she dreams in color, touching flames without melting and growing hot and shaking her head hard at the anguished screams, hoping they don't find her, hoping they don't kill her, too.

Ashley dreams and wakes up and does it all over again.  
Her head hurts. And her body is a symphony of pops and cracks now.  
It doesn't feel good to open her mouth at the moment - like it wants to freeze up, like it wants to stay shut.

This isn't the glory aspect, you know.  
This is the trouble on the other side of paradise.  
This is the risk of being a player. This is the price you pay when your number is called.

Still.  
Ashley dreams and sharp nails dig into her skin and a moan escapes her lips.  
No, she's no killer.  
She's just a girl who likes to toy with dangerous things.  
And Spencer Carlin is probably the most dangerous thing she could set her sights on.  
Still.  
Ashley dreams and her hair gets pulled and the world is falling apart as they fuck one another in some other place in Ashley's head.

And she's not lying. Every word she spoke was the truth.

Trick is, see, that the truth can be just as messed up as the lies.

/ / / /

_"What the __**hell**__?"  
"Something wrong, Ash?"  
"Don't __**fucking**__ call me that... Don't... I mean, someone was __**there**__, Aiden! Someone was there and they... they..."  
"...Died?"  
"Yes!"_

_He smiles at her. He just smiles that same ol' smile - carefree and arrogant - the smile she has seen a hundred times.  
The smile of a womanizer. The smile of a rich man. The smile of a con artist._

_"The house got taken care of?"  
"What?"  
"The house, Ashley... you are here and the house got burned down... right?"  
"...Did you not hear what I said at all?"  
"Of course I did."_

_He sighs and gets up from his chair, grabbing her arm with a mixture of authority and friendliness, moving her away from the VIP area of this club and into his private room._

_"Look, Ash, this guy was nothing. He was a parasite, trying to feed off my animal - __**my**__ club, __**my **__streets, __**my**__ interests. You won't have to do this kind of job very often. Hell, this might be the only time you ever will... But it had to be done. And, well, __**I **__couldn't do it."_

_And he smiles that smile.  
And he leans over, pressing his lips to her cheek._

_"You smell like smoke. Why don't you go get cleaned up? Come back and we'll have that drink, okay?"_

_But she was in a million different places at once, stark still and air refusing to move from her lungs, looking at Aiden with a blank kind of horror._

_"You knew?"  
"Knew what?"  
"That he was there... that I would start that blaze up and he'd be there, that he'd burn up and I'd be the one responsible... you knew this whole time?"_

_The smile is still there, but it is no longer smooth.  
She's not seen it often, but she knows this smile as well.  
It is usually followed by a warning of some kind, an one-time offer to stay in Aiden Dennison's good graces._

_"Are you going to make an issue of this, Ashley? Because I would hate that for you."  
"You had me __**kill someone**__. I don't do that." She hisses out and he grabs her arm again, this time it was with strength and with a darker purpose.  
"You do what I tell you to do. You want a name around here? You want money and respect? You'll do whatever I want... __**got it**__?"_

_Oh, she got it.  
She didn't agree, but she didn't reply either._

_She left.  
And then she ran._

/ / /

It's like a chain.  
One that starts with her and then goes along, further and further, only reaching the end when you find whomever is the lowest of the low - the users or the junkies, the business men who get shafted, the places that get jacked, the kid who doesn't have a parent coming home that night.

Just depends on who pays the most. Just depends on who has the most anger.

The final link usually suffers more than anyone else.

But if something goes wrong in the middle, disrupts the connection or grows weak, then you've got to fix it. Take the blow-torch to that piece of rust and get rid of it.  
And she thinks that might be a harder blow for someone to swallow.

If you are more important than the losers, then - inevitably - you have more to lose.

Spencer made calls the moment she stepped out of the warehouse.  
She stayed up all night and didn't go home, checking emails coming into her Blackberry - because this is the day and age for technology.  
There aren't kids you can slide quarters to on the sidewalk who will sneak around and get information for you.  
It comes to you at the speed of light.  
And she asked questions until she got some answers.

That's why she's here, right now, by the pier.  
At four in the morning and the city across the bay still asleep, lights off and sirens cooled down, that's why she is here - staring at this man before her.  
A glorified pencil-pusher, nice suit - bought with money she's paid him, and he stutters and he claims that he did his job well.  
He pleads. He begs. He says a lot of things and Spencer gets tired of hiring it.

And it feels good to slam the back of her fist to his face.

She doesn't know if Aiden Dennison is just looking for a new conquest in Spencer's town.  
She doesn't know if Aiden Dennison is just looking for revenge against Ashley Davies.  
These are merely speculations and theories.

But she does know that Ashley's file was left incomplete.

And Spencer doesn't accept that kind of work ethic.

"Do it."

She gets in her car and backs up, no need for her headlights to show off her guards getting rid of Mr. Martin Kendrick, making him disappear into the dark water.

She's seen it all before anyway.

/ /

"Nothing irreparably damaged?"

Ashley's eyes lazily blink and then the head nods - well, more like raises a bit and then goes down again. But the eyes stay open. Tired, but open.

"So, you can speak then?"

Spencer sits down behind her desk and she watches as Ashley's body seems to sink into the couch. It's like watching muscles sigh with stiff contentment.

"Yea. Throat hurts... a bit."  
"In the shit-house and still asking favors, Ashley?"  
"Can't talk... if I can barely swallow."

Spencer gets back up again, turning towards the dark wood doors to the left, opening them and revealing a small bar.  
There is bourbon and gin and vodka. There are mixers. All the makings for a one-woman party. But this isn't a party tonight.  
It's a 'chat'.

Still, Spencer knows all the cures to all the ailments.  
You have to have tricks up your sleeve in this line of work.  
How to have false passports. How to cover your tracks. How to intimidate.  
And you have to know how to take care of yourself, sometimes, if you get hurt along the way.

"Here. Drink this."

And Spencer hands over a glass, watching Ashley stare at the contents curiously.

"What is it?"  
"A helper."

Ashley's distrust amuses her, causing an almost genuine smile to break out over her lips. The brunette shifts her gaze to Spencer then, the two of them steadily gazing at the other, as the mug lifts upwards and to Ashley's mouth.

"Don't worry. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't poison you. This isn't Clue."

Ashley actually chuckles, which causes her to choke somewhat on the drink, and Spencer allows the woman to collect herself before return to the chair behind the desk.

"It's... uh, strong."  
"It has to be."  
"Okay."

Ashley continues to sip and Spencer leans back in the chair, crossing her legs and getting comfortable.

"So far, everything you've told me has come back clean. And while you didn't divulge these things up-front, I had no reason to suspect otherwise. And that is due to a problem in my department, which has been taken care of."

Ashley blinks again, this time more aware, and Spencer recognizes that look. It is the look of someone who knows what is being said in-between the lines.  
And it freaks them out.  
As it should.

"Now, the real question becomes, is Aiden Dennison trying to screw me over? Or is he trying to fuck up your life?"

Spencer wouldn't confess this any time soon, but the transition from a sleep-deprived Ashley Davies to a hardened Ashley Davies is quiet the sight to behold.  
The girl is already lovely to look at. Pretty as a picture.  
But anger makes the girl incredibly sexy. It brings out the claws and the teeth.

It reminds Spencer of things left waiting in the wings.

"I did a good job of disappearing." Ashley replies, voice a little more rough than usual, but cold as ice. Spencer nods imperceptibly.

"Settling scores seems to be his thing. Am I right?"  
"Very."  
"If he is after me, he'll regret it. And if he is after you..."

Spencer lets that thought hang there, in the air around them, resting like the gallows on Ashley's shoulders.  
She'd not go silently, Spencer knows that. Ashley Davies would fight Aiden Dennison with everything she has.  
Which isn't much. Just fire. Just the ability to duck and cover.  
Neither of those things will keep a person alive for long.

And Spencer Carlin doesn't do unnecessary hassle.

But, then again, she doesn't like anyone messing with her people.  
She's the only one allowed to do that.  
And, right now, Ashley Davies belongs to Spencer Carlin.

"...then he'll regret that, too."

/

_She ran.  
And she hid.  
And she stayed so far underground that even the mice didn't know where she was._

_Once it seemed that things had settled down, she left that part of the state.  
She drifted and kept her head down.  
She wouldn't get a steady place. She stayed away from the subways._

_And, in a new city, she tried to live a decidedly 'normal' life.  
Shitty job mopping the floors of a gas station. Shitty squat for a home, no electricity.  
She did this for year.  
She gave it time._

_But her fingers got itchy. And she'd walk around before night would fall, her eyes studying the buildings and she'd plan how to torch them - all in her head, all for fun.  
She didn't do it. But she wanted to._

_Finally, after another six months, Ashley started to stay out later.  
And she learned the names around the city.  
And she didn't give away much, but a few right words into the right ears, and she came up on the radar of one Spencer Carlin._

_A new job. A new chance. A new life._

_Ashley conveniently forgot that the past never stays dead._

**TBC**


	4. part six

Spencer wasn't lying either.  
It wasn't poison.  
But it was something, something that made Ashley's tongue thick and her head grow heavier and caused her vision to go from painfully sharp to fuzzy around the edges.

Ashley could feel her body tilting to one side, but it was like being underwater - she didn't topple over, she floated off.

It was warm. It was scarily soothing.  
A ship no longer tethered to the dock, drifting... drifting... drifting.

But not dying.  
Ashley noted the loud beating of her own heart, right before falling into a nice sleep.

And she saw Spencer, for a lazy second, reaching out and taking the glass away and a satisfied smile on those delicious lips.  
Right before oblivion, Ashley smiled back at the woman and blew her a kiss.

/ / / /

"When she wakes up, give her anything she needs... Within reason, of course. No phone-calls out. And don't let her leave. Is that understood?"

The man nods.  
Then he kneels down, picking up the brunette as if she were a kid, and carries the woman away. Spencer waits until they are fully out the door before she reaches for the phone on the desk.

Pressing one button, she doesn't have to even wait for a full ring before it is answered.

"Yes, Ms. Carlin?"  
"Be at my place in, oh, two hours or so. I've got someone for you to check out."  
"Of course, Ms. Carlin."

And then she sits down to the open laptop and the documents being swiftly transferred for her to go over.  
All about Aiden Dennison.

He reads like some bastardized version of a character from The Great Gatsby - more money than sense, pomp and circumstance - but there are cold touches all around, too.  
Bodies tend to pile up and get swept under the rug.  
Arrests never happen, sections of a city kept away from the public eye.  
Aiden rules the roost, with oil-slick charm and an unexpected iron fist.

Spencer smirks, because the two of them actually have a lot in common in the way they handle things and people and investments.  
If you play by their rules, you'll be alright.  
If you don't play by their rules, you are as good as dead.

And, really, she can't take any moral high road.  
She's done her fair share of blood-letting. She's seen men go down and not get back up.  
She's been the bullet in the gun.  
She's been the long knife in the dead of night.

There isn't a difference between them, except for gender.

But top dogs tend to fight. They don't make friends with one another for nothing.  
The gain has to be bigger than the ego for that to happen.

And Aiden Dennison's ego is probably the biggest thing on him.

But that is Spencer Carlin's own personal weakness as well.  
She adores being king of the mountain, pushing on the backs with her thumb and eliminating the competition, each take-over barrels through her system like a drug.  
And she rides it out, like the best sex in the world, rides it out until there is not a thing left.

If they were to work together, they could probably run the state.  
And, were it not for Ashley Davies, Spencer might have bought this line and traveled it to her possible ruin.  
But there are strange factors coming into play, unknown motivations at work, and Aiden Dennison turning up now seems less like a chance at consolidation - and more like a case of retaliation, born and bred far away from his speech of 'scratch my back and I'll scratch yours'.

Spencer stares at the picture of Aiden Dennison on her laptop, but it is not a look of concern upon her face. Or even anger.  
She is grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

Because Spencer Carlin loves nothing more than a chance to flex her muscle.  
To show the streets who is in charge.  
To carve her name into legend.

God, but she loves a good old fashioned war.

/ / /

_"She's not awake yet?"  
"No, but she should be soon. Her jaw is very swollen, so she should take these every four hours. I listened to her breathing and it is steady. Some bruising along her torso... It would be better for me to ask her some questions once she is awake, just to make sure there isn't any internal bleeding of any kind. Otherwise, it is my medical opinion that she will be fine."  
"Okay then. You know the way out. Come back around noon."  
"Yes, Ms. Carlin."_

Ashley takes a very shallow breath at that comment.  
And her pulse stops racing. And she feels the muscles in her back start to relax again.

She woke up, literally, five seconds ago.  
And she felt so groggy, so damn out of it, that the cool touch of fingertips to her face seemed very far away.  
And the words that echoed in her ears seemed foreign at first, jumbled and odd.

But she quickly caught on, squinting one eye barely open and focusing on a bent head of silver hair.  
The man didn't seem to notice her being awake, very intent on looking at her stomach and lightly pressing against the skin.  
Then she flicked her one-eyed gaze to what she could see around her, which was no longer Spencer Carlin's office, but a huge living room or den.  
There was a coffee table. There were books. There was a fire-place.

And Ashley's mind started to race and the hand closest to her started to flex, just a bit, ready to punch this guy and get the hell out of whatever she was.  
But a door slammed shut somewhere she couldn't see and the man's head darted around and Ashley shut her eye quick, not wanting to give away that she was now aware.

Of course, hearing 'Ms. Carlin' does not mean that this situation is any better for her.  
It could be that this is where she'll be disposed of.  
Isn't that the term people like to use, to make it seem less like murder and more like you are simply taking out the trash?  
Then again, Ashley reasons, she **is** alive - that drink obviously didn't kill her, it just put her to sleep. But the question is... why do this at all?

"You must be hungry." A voice pipes up from behind and to the right.  
And Ashley internally rolls her eyes, pushing her sore body upwards and facing Spencer's amused smirk.  
"How'd you know?"  
"You were too still."  
"People **are** still when they sleep."  
"Not really. They snore. They drool. They do not have tension lines on their forehead."

Ashley self-consciously rubs her hand over her forehead then as Spencer shrugs off her jacket, revealing a black top - sleeveless - and lightly tanned arms.  
It's ridiculous that Ashley notices this. It's ridiculous that Ashley **likes** noticing it.  
Spencer's skin is nice to look at, though.  
It is even better to feel. Even better to taste.

"Why did you knock me out?"  
"To bring you here."  
"And where is here?"

But Spencer just walks into another room and Ashley trails her gaze down to Spencer's ass, annoyed at her own lack of caring for personal safety in the face of her increasing lust for the blonde.  
Talk about stupid. Talk about dumb. Talk about jumping out of the plane with no parachute.

Still, with the reckless abandon that has been her only guide in this life, Ashley figures that if it is her fate to perish at the hands of Spencer Carlin - it's a pretty nice way to go.

/ /

Soup isn't a meal.  
But it is warm and it slides down her sore throat easily and it doesn't require her mouth to move much.  
Being prodded and poked at is annoying.  
But this guy doesn't seem like a pervert and Spencer is surveying every single touch and it is probably a good thing to not be dying from the inside.  
Taking pills of any kind always sucks.  
But they aren't too large and it does not take long for them to hit in, to run wild in her body and numb all the discomfort.  
Being high off of anything was never her bag.  
But there is a peace to feeling nothing much above the neck, there is a kind of comfort in the sensation of a sure hand in her own as it pulls her along because she cannot walk too well.  
And she glances at the various pieces of art on the walls and she pauses on the windows that overlook the skyscrapers in the distance, she feels the carpet sinking down under the soles of her boots, she feels each breath she takes - how it fills her up and how it flutters out of her again.

"I suppose I should let you rest, hmm?"

Spencer's voice has a flavor and Ashley wonders if anyone else has noticed that.  
It is a contradiction - sweet and sour at the same time.  
Saying one thing, like 'let you rest', but doing another thing with that hand - slipping from Ashley's palm and sliding up under Ashley's shirt, grazing where that punch landed and making Ashley shiver.

From an echo of pain, sure, but more so from anticipation.

Ashley feels simultaneously connected and disconnected from her own skin, Spencer's touch catching her on fire and cooling her down, there but not, a dream and a reality.  
And that breathing she can track, it gets louder and it picks up speed.

"What do you think, Ashley?"

And the question bounces around her head, knocking into whatever is left of her common sense and begging for a straight answer, but common sense is for good people - not thieves, not killers, not fire-starters.  
Besides, Spencer's hand has a friend now and the two of them are moving south, undoing the top of Ashley's jeans and slowly pulling the zipper down and questing fingertips move past the clothing and press firmly against Ashley's clit.

"Oh **god**... that feels good..."

Spencer's laugh is small and perfect and Ashley wants to crawl inside of that sound even as she closes her eyes and languidly pushes her hips forward - anxious for more pressure, anxious for more sensations to rocket up her spine, feeling weightless and aroused and ready.  
Because it feels good. So fucking good.  
She'd do anything to keep Spencer touching her. Anything at all.

Those fingers rub so slowly, they deny and they tease. Those fingers taunt by going lower and dragging back up like there is all the time in the world, over and over and over again.  
Ashley finally catches up to her own voice, her own voice asking for what she has wanted all along, from that very first day, from that very first drink and ever since the very first time Spencer Carlin bent her over a desk and ruined her for other women.

"Oh, fuck, please... **fuck**... **me**..."

And Spencer's voice tastes like a wicked kind of victory.

"No rest for you then."

/

The offer will be put on the table, even with this new development.  
No need to make an enemy, unless one has to.  
The plan is sound and it is profitable - two sides working together, pooling all the scum and all the bad cops and all the meat-heads into one giant network.  
It can mean a new level of domination.  
It can reach into every nook and cranny, it can buy mayors and it can influence governments.

All Spencer Carlin has to do is give up Ashley Davies.

And, really, what is one fire-bug in the face of owning the streets?

Because Aiden knows that he and Spencer Carlin have more in common than they do not.  
They do not operate with emotion. They do not care about feelings, they care about being the best.  
The both of them, keeping their hands clean but still able to eradicate problems.  
Two charmers in a sea of rough faces - together, they would be a force to be reckoned with.

It was just kismet, really, that Ashley turned up when she did.  
Getting a little bit of long over-due retribution would just be the cherry on top for Aiden, a niggling annoyance in the back of his mind in the body of a fetching brunette with a penchant for burning down places, the girl who got away.

Up there, in those aloft rooms, with guards and protection, Ashley Davies has no idea that her day has come.

**TBC**


	5. part seven

It's easy to be like this.  
It's easy to be the hard girl in the room.  
It's easy to come off as kind and then let the mask fall down.

It's easy to be Spencer Carlin if you've lived a life like Spencer Carlin's.

See, no one knows about her.  
Not even Aiden Dennison and all the people he pays.  
Certainly not Ashley Davies.  
Even those who bow and scrape for the scraps off of Spencer's plate don't know a thing about her.  
Where she comes from, who she gets that blonde hair from, where she gets that laugh from... Nobody knows those things.

Except for Spencer Carlin.

And it's easy to forget. It's easy to reinvent yourself.  
It's easy to shed the skin and be born again.  
It's easy to take a sad song and make it so much fucking better, right, Jude?

Her brother, Glen, used to love The Beatles.

But she's not listened to them much for the past seven years or so.

There are days, though, when she'll shut her door and dig around and put an old .45 on.  
And she'll try to recall Glen's face.  
But it's too easy to misplace a memory.  
It's too easy to misplace a whole other world after a while.

You build something new, something out of nothing, and you tell everyone that it is yours - and yours alone.  
You build a name. You craft an empire. You snap your fingers and people come running.

It's easy to be like this.

It's easy for Spencer to be like this.

And Glen, he was never this cold or this hard or this ruthless.  
But Spencer... Spencer always was.

/ / / /

Ashley wakes up alone.  
Which does not surprise her at all.

The sheet is haphazardly wrapped around her waist, tangled up in her body, and she is still very much naked.  
The gray light of the day is pushing past heavy curtains and it looks like it might rain, out there in the city where thousands of people go about their day.

School-teachers. Bankers. Cab drivers. Kids. Cops. Parents.  
Just a day to day world.

Ashley's never known such a world, though.  
And it is likely that she never will.  
She supposes that that should make her feel remorse of some kind.  
But it doesn't.

How could she feel regret of any kind after last night?

Her mind was flying and her limbs were barely functioning, but Ashley made a detailed mental recording of every blissful second that Spencer Carlin was inside of her.  
With that tongue. With those fingers.  
She can feel the deep down pulsing even now, the way it curls up within her, so willing to strike out once more and find purchase in her strong desire.

It causes her jaw to clench and that's when remembered ecstasy fades to a dull - but overwhelming - ache.  
So, she gets up and fumbles around for her clothing, jeans on but not buttoned, shirt inside out, boots slipped on and unlaced. And one of the guards greets her with a bored expression, the newspaper settling to his lap as he watches her walk into the kitchen and watches her open the bottle of pills and watches her take two of the tablets.

"Enjoy the show?" She smirks and it hurts her face, but she tries not to show it.

He just lifts the paper back up.

And she snoops around the refrigerator, taking a bite of some kind of cheese spread and plucking an olive or two. She almost snags a beer, but thinks better of that.  
And her jaw is killing her, but she is desperately hungry.  
And this place is nice, but she wants to go to her apartment.  
And sex with Spencer is addictive, but she doesn't want to wear out her welcome either.

"You're not going anywhere."

Ashley's hand freezes on the door-knob. She does not turn around, though.

"**Yes**, I am."  
"Ms. Carlin wants you to stay until she returns."  
"Yea, well, tell her I'll come back later. That's a promise."

But there is another guy right outside the door, statue-like sentry in the hallway, looking quite capable of blocking Ashley from leaving.  
Looking like he might enjoy doing such a thing.

And her jaw hurts even more now, but that's because her teeth are grinding.  
And this place is nice, but it's really just a pristine prison.  
And sex with Spencer is addictive, but just like all addictions, it comes with drawbacks.

There aren't any ropes.  
But Ashley suddenly feels very much bound.

/ / /

"Well, what an unexpected pleasure, Spencer Carlin."

His voice is light and perfectly polite. Hers is much the same.

"Your proposal intrigued me, Dennison. I'd like to see how you think combining our efforts would work."  
"Then, by all means, let's meet."  
"I hope you aren't offended when I suggest somewhere neutral."  
"Not at all. I would do the same. Besides, this is your turf... I'll play by your rules."  
"Thanks so much."

Her voice drips with false care. And his voice does exactly the same.

"There's bar, two blocks north of the wharf. The Red Door. Does six o'clock work?"  
"Of course. I'll see you there."  
"Good."  
"And Carlin?"

A pregnant pause. An ace up the sleeve. The first move.

"Tell Ashley I said hello, won't you? It's been a **long** time since she and I have seen one another."

And Spencer smiles softly, watching the traffic pass by as she sits at a red light, because she has been waiting for this.

"Certainly, Dennison. I'm sure she'll be happy to hear from you."

And hands are shown.  
But, as with all games, only one hand can win.

/ /

"I want out of here."

And Spencer lightly shrugs her shoulders, sitting a leather briefcase down on the coffee table.

"Alright."

Ashley bites her tongue, just barely stopping a barrage of complaints that she was sure she'd have to launch into. But Spencer's agreement is quick and simple and it catches Ashley off guard.

"Um, okay. Good then. So... I'll be going now."  
"Before you do, how are you feeling?"

Spencer's face is almost interested. Almost caring. Almost kind.  
Ashley can't help the warring factors bustling around her brain - the larger side of her that says to not trust this, to watch closely for the traps in that voice and on that lovely face.  
But there is this other side, that doesn't have a proper name, that sort of wishes all those 'almosts' were somehow true.

Ashley must still be high off those pills.  
She must still be hurting from that hit and that tight grip.  
She must be going mad and needs to run as fast as she can.

"Uh, better. I guess."  
"Did my guys take care of you while I was gone?"

It's a cross between being a friend and being a pet, that's the tone in Spencer's voice.  
Is Ashley a person that this blonde wants to know?  
Is Ashley a thing that this blonde likes to think she owns?  
That tone, it bothers Ashley.  
It reminds her of Aiden. It reminds her of Aiden - **a lot**.

"Yea."  
"That's good. Want a beer?"  
"No."  
"Oh c'mon Ashley... You and I have reached such a nice place in our... **involvement**. Let's toast to that."

Spencer's smile takes on a familiar slant. More what Ashley is used to and that settles Ashley's nerves a bit. Better the enemy you know and all that.  
And while lust is still lingering about her bones, Ashley Davies can shove it aside for a while.  
Spencer is delectable, anyone with eyes can see that.  
And she is downright wonderful in bed and Ashley likes that aspect of the woman more and more each day that goes by.  
But Spencer is still Spencer Carlin - leader of the pack and not a woman to underestimate.

The blonde is vicious and draws a hard line.  
Cross that line at your own peril.  
And Ashley has a sinking feeling that she is on the tightrope now, but the way she came is blocked and the way ahead is in the shadows.

Spencer hands her a cold bottle and Ashley takes measured sips, whereas the blonde takes a long pull off her drink - throat rolling like an ivory wave and Ashley's eyes betray her.  
Again.  
Spencer smirks at her as she sets the bottle down and Ashley finds her eyes blinking slowly, like they cannot catch up with the rest of her movements. Or like she is on repeat, each action happening twice and each action more sloth-like than the first time around.

Spencer's hand is on her face, cupping the jaw almost tenderly, and the other hand is a distant weight on Ashley's hip - keeping them close together.

"You wear your weakness on your sleeve, Ashley."

And Ashley rolls her eyes towards the blonde woman, trying very hard to focus all her energy and to make her mouth work.

"You've... done it... again..."  
"Mmhmm... Can't have you see the way in or out. Too risky. What if one day you want to burn my house down?"

Spencer chuckles and it is a gorgeous thing, really it is, and it is the last thing that Ashley hears before she passes right out.

/

"It would be a healthy respect for boundaries, of course. But if I pick up a business in your territory, then you'd get more than half. And if you snag a prospect in my area,** I **get more than half. If my boys run into trouble, help them out and I give you more clients... personal clients of mine that pay** very **well. And if your guys need assistance, then I freely give it to them."

Spencer smiles and swirls the wine in her glass around.

"'Freely' being a loose term, obviously."

Aiden smiles back, effortless and calm.

"Obviously."

On paper, it is cut and dry. It is a greasing of the palms. It is quid pro quo between giants.  
It would mean a widening of Spencer's reach, which is always a good thing.  
And for Aiden Dennison, it would be the alignment with another force in the criminal underworld - a highly profitable one, in fact.  
He'd get another boost to that ego.  
And so would she.

It's win-win, really.

"I don't see any reason to not entertain this notion of yours, Dennison."

The man smiles, waving over a waiter and ordering a bottle of champagne.

"This calls for a celebration, don't you think?"

Spencer nods in affirmation, draining her glass and sitting it down for the waiter to fill up once he returns. Aiden slides a pen over to Spencer and uncaps one of his own.  
All it takes is a name on the dotted line.  
And then they would be tied to one another until the end of time, a sham marriage with monetary benefits and with divorce never an option.

"One question is bothering me, though."

Aiden glances over at Spencer and waits for her to continue.

"What happens if one of us should... you know, go to meet their maker?"

Aiden leans back then, cocking his head to one side, smile going from practiced cool to insanely confident.

"I don't plan on that happening. Do you?"  
"Who plans on dying, Dennison?"

He laughs a bit and she grins a bit. They so good at this kind of thing. So good indeed.

"Fine, I see your point. And I think, if you... or I should kick the bucket sooner rather than later, than the other takes over all endeavors. Tries to honor the deceased by doing a good job and such. We can add that to the contracts if you like?"

And that's exactly what Spencer wants. So she says so, as if it means nothing, when it means everything. It adds a gleam to her eye, one that Aiden probably catches.  
He's no fool. He's not stupid.  
But he thinks he has time.  
And that's where he is so wrong.

"Oh. Did you say hello to Ashley for me?"  
"Sorry, it slipped my mind."  
"Too bad. You know... she really isn't one to rely on. I'm sure even if you told her, she wouldn't remember to drop me a line."  
"She is rather lax when it comes to following orders. Am I right to assume that she worked for you?"

Games. So many games. So many tricks and ploys.  
It's always a matter of who gets that last shot in, though.  
It's always a matter of who is left standing.  
That's all that ever counts.

"Once upon a time. I'd love to have her back, though. Best flame-thrower out there."  
"I could arrange that. If you want."  
"How much?"  
"No, consider it a gift. A measure of faith between associates."

He studies her and Spencer remains impenetrable.  
Aloof. Relaxed. Neither here nor there, as concrete as air - as if this means nothing, as if Ashley Davies were a footnote.

And Spencer has to lower her opinion of Aiden Dennison when he buys into her act.

**TBC**


	6. part eight

**anon, you had a point. I haven't forgotten. Promise**

/

No one teaches you to breathe. You just do it. It comes naturally.  
But all those other things you must learn.  
You gotta learn how to smile, gotta learn how to frown, gotta learn when to lie and you gotta learn when to tell the truth.

You start out clean as a whistle.  
And you go out like dirt on the bottom of a shoe.

If you are lucky, somewhere in between all that mess, you might find a moment or two of happiness. Maybe a day where you don't have to look over your shoulder.  
Maybe a second where you aren't on the run from yourself.

But that's fucking rare, isn't it?

No one teaches you to run, either.  
It just comes naturally.

It's no Nike commercial, but you damn well do it.

/ / / /

The hand clamps down heavily over her mouth and Ashley's first instinct is to lash out, so she does. This may not be much a room, may not be much of a place to lay her head, but it is hers.  
Bought and paid for with dirty deeds.

Her elbow goes back and hits this solid wall of person, but she keeps trying.  
Trying and getting nowhere, evidently.  
Ashley hates impossible situations. Ashley hates being woken up after barely getting sleep.

Ashley hates this life she is in, all of a sudden, hates it a whole lot.

She is bustled out of her room and down the hallway, in and out of the dim lights, then out into the street where a dark car waits with the back door open.

A not so delicate shove to her back gives Ashley the hint.

"Shut the door."

Ashley rolls her eyes and does as told, giving the finger to her 'escort' through the tinted windows. And then she crosses her arms, refusing to meet those blue eyes beside her.  
No money is worth this. No habit of staring fires is worth this.

"Stop behaving like a spoiled brat, Ashley."  
"You had me **dragged** out of bed... What? You can't **call** like a normal person?"

Spencer actually laughs at this, tapping the partition between them and the driver. The car slowly starts to moving, gliding through the night like an unseen blade.

"Since when are either of us 'normal', Ashley? You are being over-dramatic. And just because we fuck doesn't mean you have some kind of special privilege with me. If I want you, for **anything** at all, I get you. Is that understood?"

Gone is the laughter. Only the iron remains.  
Makes those blue eyes pop, but Ashley keeps that bit of knowledge to herself, for a myriad of reasons.

"So, as to why I have brought you here, I believe our working relationship has reached its end."

Ashley's arms slowly uncross and her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"What do you-"  
"As of today, you are going back to Aiden Dennison."

_Yep_, Ashley thinks, _should have __**never**__ gotten into this line of work._

/ / /

It's a great plan, really it is.

Of course, all plans have holes - those unknown elements, those variables that can ruin something gloriously devised.  
But even if something goes wrong on the inside, Spencer has the outside covered.

Sure, spreading her grasp of power into Dennison's territory would be a major coup d'état.  
But every sign points to Aiden Dennison being a greedy son of a bitch.  
He might begin with platitudes that are charming, but it's like letting the snake get in your bed.

And Spencer Carlin is not one for snakes of any sort.

So, she agreed and she came off as bored - but compliant. And she'll be handing over Ashley Davies on a silver platter, which the prospect of this action seems to make Aiden Dennison as giddy as a school-girl.

Then her plan can take effect and she can watch it unfold and there will be that moment where her competition will be wiped out as quick as one can blink.

It's her speciality, after-all - the process of elimination, this act of nature rendered down to one woman.

And Aiden Dennison was stupid to forget such a fact.

/ /

Their eyes meet and Ashley wants to bolt so badly, the muscles in her legs pulled painfully tight and her hands already fists by her side.

_Bad to worse, right? This is some fucking nightmare and I'll wake up soon... yea?_

Spencer's touch is like ice, a cool hand on her elbow. And those two bodyguards that flank the blonde, silent statues.  
They don't give a damn about what is going down. They just stare straight ahead.

Aiden looks the same as always.  
Polished and preening, the most metro of metrosexual, suit and tie and too much aftershave.

"Ashley Davies, do my eyes deceive me?" He asks with a grin, casual stance but there is a wicked gleam in his gaze.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

"As promised, Dennison." Spencer says placidly, a small smile on her lips.

And Ashley hates those lips right now. Hates the fact that they have been all over her. Hates that she came upon them, more than once.

"I am most grateful. **Truly**."

That last word held some promise, the worst kind of promise. And Ashley does her best to refrain from looking too freaked out. It might not be working, though.  
The grip on her elbow gets a little firmer and Ashley wants to jerk away, like she is offended.  
And she is, but she doesn't know why.

Why does Ashley think she is anything more than an employee? Anything more than a fuck-buddy? Anything more than a body to Spencer Carlin?

_I'm not. That's just it. I'm just a piece in this game and I'm about to become expendable._

Spencer motions for one of hired men and he comes over without question.

"Take her to the car to get her bag."

And then Spencer turns back to Aiden, who is still smiling like the damn Cheshire Cat.

"And this can conclude our first bit of business."

Spencer smiles and if Ashley wasn't so pissed off, so anxious, she might have noticed just how amazing cold that smile turned out to be.

But she is outside again, wishing she could run and knowing that if she tried it... Well, those guys might be big and seem lumbering, but they would chase her down.  
And if they couldn't catch her, they'd just shoot her and Spencer could hang Ashley's head like a trophy on the wall.

"Boss said to look through your bag **very carefully**."

Ashley shoots an annoyed glare to the man.

"I don't **work** for Carlin anymore. So I don't give a shit if she wants me to look in this bag carefully... **got it**?"

He grabs a hold of her shoulder and gives it a strong squeeze. It's the kind of hold that could turn bones to dust. It's the kind of hold that Ashley has spent a long time trying to avoid.

"Just do as you are told, fire-bug."  
"Fuck off, **lap-dog**."

But he doesn't let go and it starts to hurt and all her angry staring isn't working at all. So she unzips the bag and digs around, finding some clothing and... a toothbrush holder... a magazine... a bottle of hairspray...

"This isn't even my stuff."  
"Boss packed it. Now c'mon."  
"Oh, I thought I was supposed to** look carefully**? Right?"

She's being difficult and stalling for time. It's pointless. She knows this.  
But if this is it - if she is to walk back in there and have Aiden Dennison destroy her, then she's got to get some kicks in, a few comments to last a lifetime.

_Or to last the afterlife. Whichever comes first._

"Here's a clue, hot-shot."

And he pushes something very familiar into her hand, then starts dragging her back to Aiden's building.  
She runs her fingers over the object, curious gears working in her mind, and her thumb fits so nicely against the metal grooves.

As always, it is a calming sensation.  
Even now, with her possible demise just minutes away, even now this tiny thing is giving her a strange surge of confidence.

And the gears work, they turn and turn and they finally fit together as she is led back into a pretty little nest of vipers.  
Aiden and his nasty grin. His boys in the background, just as blank as before.  
Spencer's guys, quiet and motionless, hands behind their backs.

Then there is Spencer, hands comfortably in her pants pockets and leaning just a bit on her right foot, a serene face. A lovely damn face. Gorgeous, even, if Ashley were one to think on such things.

And Ashley stands there with a bag full of tricks.

And a lighter held fast in her hand.

_Here's hoping I live long enough to use it._

/

All plans have flaws, though.

You can strive for perfection as much as you like, but it is rare that you can reach it.  
Not with lessons. Not with grades.  
Not with people. Not with relationships.

And certainly not with crime.

See, it's amusing, because crime is the one area of the world where working out every detail is important. It is the difference between ruling the roost and being a peon.  
It is the difference between living and dying.

You can't fuck up in crime.  
Fuck up and you find yourself fucked.  
A simple rule to remember.

Spencer knows this rule very well. She's yet to break it in all this time.  
That's why she is number one. That's why she is feared. That's why she is the queen of the underworld.

But she may walk around like a god, still, she isn't one.

And all plans have flaws.  
Even good ones. Even great ones.

Even Spencer Carlin's plans can go wrong.

**TBC**


	7. part nine

**Someone told me that I 'give good fic'. If that's not a good reason to write, I don't know what is.**

/

Each one is different.

A certain scent, a certain viscosity. And the way it burns - that's different for each one, too. Some of them flare up in oranges and blues. Some of them rush like a current of red. Some of them pop and hiss the minute a spark touches down. And others are a roar, taking over a room and then tearing up everything in sight.

Mother Nature does it.

Ashley does it, too.

"While I'm here, Dennison, let's discuss some other details in this new partnership of ours."

Spencer's voice is cool and congenial. But Ashley has a duffel bag and a lighter and those words don't seem as final as they could.  
The gears are still turning. Her mind is still working to put the pieces in the right places.  
And if this is to buy Ashley time, then Ashley is going to make the most of the seconds given.

And she doesn't like this game, but she's in it now.  
No way out. No way to turn back the clock. No way to stop the urge to burn, it's been there too long, flames in her blood.

"Of course." And the man smiles, but it is not as pleased as before. Aiden had plans and Ashley knows she's at the heart of them. Plans like fingers broken. Plans like taunts in front of her busted face. Plans like punishment for a perceived betrayal, his hands around Ashley's neck.

But there are other factors at work, things that Aiden Dennison is either too cocky or too stupid to notice.  
And Spencer smiles. And Ashley swallows down her nervousness. And Aiden waves a man over, instructing him to take Ashley away.

As if it were perfect, like she had written it and was now watching it play out, they don't take the bag away from her. They just toss her in a room, far down one hallway, with a table and a window high above - and nothing more.

And once the door shuts, Ashley starts looking for whatever tricks Spencer Carlin has slipped up her sleeve.

/ / / /

He'd shove her out, if that were possible and if that were wise.  
But there is the business - the streets and the money and the power and the deals.  
And there is the personal - the sex and the suits and the fear and the anger.

He'd rush her along, if that were smart and if that were in his best interest.  
But there is the business - the contracts and the palm-greasing and the talks.  
And there is the personal - the cars and the late nights and the smirks and the cold laughter.

Spencer Carlin is picking over parts of this collaboration with a fine-tooth comb and Aiden fights the urge to rolls his eyes.  
But he answers patiently. And always with a grin, bourbon at their fingertips.  
The trappings of their respective fame - the faces they have wiped out and the kingdoms they will topple... Oh, it can be grand and he knows it and so he'll indulge her questions.

The personal can wait a bit longer.  
The personal can sit on ice for a moment or two more.

Ashley, charcoal hands and underground ways, is back in the fold.  
And as much as he likes her, because he does like her... It'll be good to let her go.

For good.

/ / /

Smells like butterscotch in that hair-spray bottle, weirdly sweet. But there is sharpness there, too. Like the stripping of finger-nails, color removed.

And this is the shit that kids use to get high, the ones too poor to score pills or powder.

But it'll catch fire as well, if not better, than gasoline.

And it's not enough to render this place to nothing... Then again, that doesn't seem to be Spencer's ultimate plan.

A magazine for tinder. A lighter. A bottle full of flammable liquid.

And in that toothbrush holder, rolled up tight, is the only advice given.  
The only solution to Spencer's problems. The only rule that Ashley cannot bend nor break.

_"take him out and you'll be free"_

The perks are pretty high, right?  
The man who wants her dead, wants to make her life just a footnote, would be eliminated - for good. The woman who controls this, who has set up this dilemma, promising freedom with just a few syllables.

And it's tempting, a chance to rewrite history by killing the present.  
A chance at walking away and starting over.  
But what is the future if you cannot forget the past? The racing of heat and the father carted away and the man she killed - these are things she has not released from her memory.

Adding another murder won't solve it.  
And dying would solve it, either.

Ashley stares at the door, running her fingers over the lighter again and again, knowing that soon that door will open and all her decisions will made for her.

Fight.  
Flight.  
Live.  
Die.  
Play.  
Lose.  
Him. Her.

_Or me...?_

/ /

Finally, the woman leaves and takes her boys with her. And the locks are thrown down. And the main lights turned off. And Aiden waves away his bodyguards, because this is personal.

They've been around for many of his blood-lettings. They've been the fists and they've been the barrels pointed to foreheads. They've been the long knives in the night.

But not this time.  
This is personal.  
And they know they would get the same if they ever left, if they ever dared to take off and hide away. So, they step aside and watch the doors and play card games.  
They don't watch him walk down the hallway, blazer slowly taken off. They don't see him roll up the sleeves and loosen the tie.

They don't need to see any of those things to know that leaving Aiden Dennison is bad for your health.

Because underneath the polish and the boyish good looks, there is a cruelty that would probably even shock Spencer Carlin.  
And Aiden demands absolute loyalty.  
And he'll get it - even its with a person's last breath.

/

"Did you pay attention?"  
"Yes, ma'am"  
"Where?"  
"End of the hallway, last door on the left."  
"And you've got the layout?"  
"Yes, ma'am."  
"Find the room and get near it, see if there is a way in or out of there besides the door."  
"Yes, ma'am."

She nods her head and off he goes, no need to hear the words.  
And she snaps her fingers, a soft click in an otherwise silent alleyway, as another man appears from the darkness.

"We know he has some surveilliance. Talk to Harris. And then get rid of it, quick."  
"Yes, ma'am."

But that potential flaw weighs heavily, pushing like a hand to the back of her head and she must slap it back, tell it to shut the hell up.

Because you have choices in this lifetime - do you save your body or do you save your soul?  
Do you lose what makes you human in order to stay alive? Do you sacrifice your morals and your standards just so you can walk away, unscathed?

Spencer has made these choices so many times.  
A blink of the eyes and another sliver of morality falls down, drowning in a man's blood pooling at her shoes and the blank stare of the dead.  
This is the world she lives in. This is the business she deals in.

It's nothing personal.

Of course, though, there is that flaw. And that flaw looks like Ashley Davies.  
Looks like her too deep gaze of brown. Looks like her fearful snarl and wicked touches.

And Spencer isn't sure if the woman can do what needs to be done, isn't sure if Ashley will make her own life more important than the life of the man who wants her dead.

Spencer finds her hand gripping the gun strapped to her hip, stiff and unrelenting hold upon the handle. This tension is not new, but it is stronger. It is slightly different, in ways that can be mistaken and be lied about later.

Spencer wonders what she'll be asked to sacrifice tonight.

And she wonders, for a second, if she'll be able to do so.

**TBC**


	8. part ten

**Long time coming. Hope it works for someone out there 'coz this was the intended ending (minus some extra violence).**

/

_The look in her father's eyes could have chilled a corpse. It wasn't hate but understanding - a cool and wicked understanding. He knew that his daughter would have a hard road ahead of her. He knew that his daughter's life wouldn't be worth a damn from the moment she set fire to the garage and stood there gawking - wilted match in her hand and smoke all around._

_The look in her father's eyes made her feel like the most important girl in the world._

Ashley looks at the magazine. Ashley grips the lighter. Ashley looks at that bottle of liquid fire.

Then the door knob slowly turns.

And death, always an unwelcome guest, is about to come right in.

/ / / /

_The look in her brother's eyes could have stopped a beating heart. It wasn't sadness but understanding - a broken and wistful understanding. He knew that his sister would have a hard road ahead of her. He knew that his sister's life wouldn't be worth a damn from the moment she started screaming as his knees hit the cold ground - the squealing of tires and the smell of gunpowder all around._

_The look in her brother's eyes made her feel like the most important girl in the world._

A hand goes up in the distance and that means the wires are cut, rendering Aiden Dennison and his men blind. If they are smart then well-paid lackeys will soon come barreling out of the viper's den. If they are stupid then dying at Spencer's command will be akin to a favor to Aiden Dennison.

Well, at least until Aiden's head hits the chopping block. It probably won't seem like a favor then.

Spencer pulls out her phone and quickly presses 'send'.

Five minutes later, the hand goes up again and now Dennison is truly in the dark.

Her men pile out of the SUV and they don't need to be told twice - this is cleaning house, this is sending a message.  
This isn't about taking back what was hers because she never lost a damn thing in this little game. She didn't lose the city streets. She didn't lose any money.

And she won't be losing Ashley Davies.

Not tonight anyway.

/ / /

_Think on your feet.  
Move quickly.  
Always look for a way out._

These are things that you learn the hard way. These are steps to a very deadly dance and you cannot afford to have your toes stepped on - two left feet leaves you buried.

So, when the lights suddenly go out and she hears Aiden shout out angrily, Ashley does not think twice. This is no time for flames. This is no time to lose her already fucked-up soul. And this is not her time to die.

She can hear her own breathing.  
She blinks and tries to see movement in a pitch black room.  
She can hear Aiden's shoes move towards her.  
She feels a hand coast by her face and she dives forward, knocking into that table. She can hear the bottle hit the floor. She can hear the magazine flutter and tear.

She can feel the arms wrap around her waist and pull her back.

So, she fights. She fights every step of the way.  
She throws elbows and kicks out and screams as Aiden holds onto her tighter. She can hear the scrambling of feet outside of this room, the bobbing of flashlights along the wall and getting nearer and nearer.

"You fucking** bitch**, did you think I'd let you get out of here? Did you think you could hide away forever from me?" Aiden hisses and Ashley rears her head backwards, happy for the subsequent pain when the man howls out in agony.

"I'm going to kill you." Aiden grinds out and one arm is gone and Ashley tries to shove him fully off but anger makes you stronger. Anger makes you dedicated. And anger is driving Aiden's hand around Ashley's throat.

_Think on your feet... Move quickly... Always look for a way out... Set fire to the whole universe... Watch it burn... Police cars and fathers long gone..._

Ashley doesn't want to die, though.

She isn't sure that there is much to live for but she sure as hell doesn't want to go down like this.

_Not like this._

_Not like this at all._

_Not fucking like this._

And it is dark in this room, darker than anywhere Ashley has ever been, and still the lights are going out - one by one - as breathing becomes more difficult.

And Ashley doesn't want to die.

But her eyes just cannot help but close.

/ /

There's a second when he feels this surge of power go through his body and it feels better than alcohol, better than drugs, better than sex. It is the feeling of being in total control, being the factor that decides life or death - it is like being God.

There's a second where he feels like it is his name that should be on everyone's lips.

As quickly as it comes, though, the feeling leaves. And it is replaced by something hot and something cold, something shocking and something horrible. And it hurts and it stills his mind and it's gonna be the end of him.

A beam of light hits his eyes and his hand slides away from flesh that has ceased to struggle. That's when something warm and sticky slides from his mouth and he coughs and he drops to the ground.

Aiden thought the sound was familiar, two loud bangs that rattled his ears, and so it is the last sound he'll ever hear.

/

_The look in her eyes is one of too much desire, the kind of desire that will wind up being more trouble than it is worth. The look in her eyes is staking claims that no one has ever attempted before and it won't end well, you know?_

_None of this was ever meant to end well._

Spencer sits on a bench in a park, ten days later, sunglasses on and legs primly crossed at the knee. To anyone casually looking, she is the perfect picture of a pretty lady out on the town - shopping bags at her feet and designer clothes against every curve and sporadic sips from a plastic Starbucks cup.

To anyone casually looking, Spencer does not look like someone who orders killings and pays off politicians. It is kind of funny what money can cover up, isn't it?

_The look in her eyes is one of too much loneliness, the kind of loneliness that will wind up being more terrible as time goes on. The look in her eyes is demanding things that no one has ever begged for before and it won't end well, you know?_

_None of this was ever meant to end well._

Ashley sit down quietly and keeps her gaze trained ahead, watching kids play in fallen leaves and men jogging by and women on cell phones. She's never been here, to this park or to this place of happy families or to this realm of such elusive simplicity.

Ashley used to want this 'normal' world so badly. Now it just makes her uncomfortable.

Now it just makes her want to flee as fast as she can.

"How's the throat?"  
"As good as it can be."

A bruise in the shape of a palm lingers on Ashley's skin. It bothers her for all the wrong reasons. She woke up in a hospital bed with a false name and smattering of blood on her face - not her own blood either. But the bills were paid for and the cops didn't ask questions.

That's when Ashley knew that Spencer must have showed up just in the nick of time.

"Didn't expect to see you again actually..."  
"You are still under contract, Ashley. You still belong to me."

There was no blaze by her name. She didn't pull that trigger.  
Ashley did not take Aiden's last breath away and so she did not follow the plan, she didn't come to heel and she supposes that being saved might have been a bad thing after all.

But then Spencer sort of chuckles and Ashley finally looks at the woman beside her, ignoring how good the daylight looks against Spencer's features, how golden the woman's damn hair is in the sun.

"What so **fucking** funny?"  
"Your face. You look like a kid being told that there isn't a Santa Claus."  
"You tell me that you **own me **and... what? I'm supposed to jump for joy or something?"  
"Ashley-"  
"You should have just let Aiden finish the job then because this won't be much better."

Her hand is cold, but strong and sure, and Ashley knows this touch like she knows color of her own eyes, like she knows the way wind curls through her own hair.

Spencer's grip is firm upon her wrist and Ashley wants to push the woman away. She wants to bite the hand that feeds and that leads her into temptation, into danger, into this world that Ashley knows all too well and just cannot seem to disappear from.

Spencer jerks her to the side and those lips, those lovely and awful lips, are pressed to Ashley's with force. With intention. With heat and determination and finality.

Like always, it tastes good, it tastes amazing. Spencer is unique in a town full of stale and bland people. Spencer is the flavor of all things wrong and wonderful.

_The look in her eyes is one that should never be there at all._

_The look in her eyes is one that shouldn't even exist._

The smack of an envelope hits Ashley's chest and then she realizes that Spencer is no longer kissing her. The woman is back to sipping that drink and staring out at nothing behind expensive lenses.

Ashley looks down at a sizable amount of cash and then back at Spencer and then at the money once more.

"I don't get it-"  
"Your sense of humor needs work, you know?"  
"...What?"  
"You were not the** best **employee, Ashley, but you did your part and didn't bullshit me, at least not much, so this is a buy-out. This is your freedom. Of course, I am sure I do not need to tell you this... but **don't** keep in touch. Forget my name and I'll do you the service of forgetting yours as well."

Spencer is standing up and Ashley remains seated. The shopping bags are picked up. The coffee is thrown away, hitting the trash can with an audible thud.

Ashley's throat still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, but really, it's talking right now that is the hard part. How do you thank someone for saving you when they've hurt you, too? How can you feel so much for someone who you can never really touch? Never really know? Never really have? How can this be the end of something you never really knew that you wanted?

Spencer starts to walk away and Ashley's throat hurts, but that's just a minor thing and just an excuse and they won't ever see each other again... So this is a one time thing.

Because none of this was ever meant to happen anyway.

Ashley snags Spencer's elbow and spins the woman around, causing one of those bags to topple to the ground. And she leans in fast, capturing Spencer's lips.  
And Ashley holds that kiss for all it is worth, which is a lot and a little all at the same time.

It is hello and good-bye.

And Ashley walks away with enough money to start over again and the knowledge that, for a minute or two, Spencer Carlin returned that kiss just because the woman wanted to.

/

**e n d**


End file.
